VOL. IJII. MY Bmo AND I, The day n >onng and I am young. The red-bird wtiist'ee to his m*te- He a to the tender leave# a uon<. I awing apm the garden gate; He singe that life is always g*y— "A day eo fair can never die " I and cast rav flowers away; tVe are so happy, he I. lVrp wading through the yellow wheat. My nubouud wil'-iu my hand. I sink, to reat my tirei feet. And n toa.lvr boat bro) Is o'er th > laud; Tae red-bird fait era in hi song - We fear the day will never die ; Them. nates drag the hoars alon We are so weary, he and I. 1 ftand alone . my work is done; The turd bee dying at my feet; There's protni-e in the s -ttiu * sun; The evening air blows soft and sweet. My biwded aheavee 1 lay aeide ; The day is dead ; I too moat die. When atara come oat at eventide. We ah*ll be resting, he and I. Susie's Gilt. The days were growing dark for George Graham. Hie studious habits hail result oil in an affection of the eyes that threatened to grow serious. This was his last term at school, and if he passed his examination creditably, lie was to have a place in Solomon Grant's store, with wages that would not only take care of himself, but greatly help his mother. His mother was a widow, and George's love for her was a aort of passion of devo tion. He was very fond of Susie Hale, but Susie was only a nice girl to him—a dear, sweet, good giri. such as any fellow would Eke; but his mother was the lady to whom was due his love, his care, his uttermost duty. The plans he made tn life were all for his mother sake. What if this crowing dizziness ibout him was to increase until all was dark ? What if he must be no help to his mother, hut only a burden on her forever ? His scholarship had been so tine that his tutor hesitated to reprove his now continual failures; and George said nothing of the increasing darkness around him to his mo ther. for he felt that it would break her heart; nothing to teacher or school males for it seemed to him that his grief would 1* nothing to tliem. But oue afternoon the crisis came. No one who was press nt that day—not even the smallest child —will ever forget the look of wild despair that swept over Geoipe Graham's face, or the gesture of belplexs anguish with which he stretched out his hands, as if to seek among them all •rune friend, as he cried— "God help me. 1 have heea going blind, and now 1 cannot see one figure in niv book!" Tb<rr was a silence after this, through which came do sound but the audible beat ing at George Graham's tortured, despairing heart. The® the master sent away the others, for school hours were nearly over, and tried ins best to comfort his stricken pupil. The word* of the teacher entered his ears, but thev did not reach his heart or kiadh tam hope Ac aoou as he could he went away. He did not go straight home. How could he face his mother and tell her what he must •ell her now ? He sat down on a hank a little removed from the road side, a bank which overhung a swift, deep yet narrow stream. An awful temptation came over him. To be sure to die would be to leave his mother to fight her battle of life alone; but also it oud relieve her from tne heavy burden he must needs be to her if he lived. The river rushing down there below in vited faim wnh he murmur. l!c brat birward over the si ream. Then lie rbew hack, for a longing came over him to go home firs: and see his mother just once mere. "See her! What an I talking about? IV i it -l fc*frr 1 aha'l never see her again." And agir s voice, soft and tender, an utK'iiedid voice, answered him — "Tea, you will see her again. Surely you will see her again !" The boy turned his face towards the •cud. -How did voa con* here, Sus ; e Hale? 1* asked. "Don't be angry, George. " the gentle voir*; entreated. "I waited for you. I could not go home till I had tld you how wwry I was. and tried to comfort you. You must take heart and try to 1* cured. 1 fiave known people who could not see at all. to be helped, and why not you f At )* you mine try." An evil mood was upon Gcorga Graham, and he answered, harshlv • Where is the money to conic from, if voa please? It lias been all mother could <jo just to lire, and she has struggled on in the expaetaurm of my I icing able soon to tteif. h€T. She has no money for experi ments. • here is nothing for it but for me *o rest a dead weigh: upon her hands, or— die." -You believe in God. George Graham, *nd tou wiii not defy him. If be means rati to hater this you will liear it like a man, and not try to get rid of the burden Just ow, it seikns to e, yon ought to go home, ft ouki ytebdike your mother to hear this from vwwse vise ?" He rose slowly. -You see- Tight." he said, "and you are • good girl Good bye. Susie."* did no* try to go with him; she fol lowed him o4y with her eyes. His ruother met him at the gate. When sb< took his hands in hers the poor Minw fell that die knew all. She was *m quiet and self controlled. "Yoar tutor has been here,' she said, -and he has told me. My darling, why have you sat hi the darkness, and shut your fc<*ber out from any share in your trouble?" -Oh. I tviuldaft tell you. mother, " he Jibed. '*! ooukir.Y. I thougfat it would break yaw heart.'' Meanwhile. Susie Hale had gone home full of ar. aoeorbiar purpose Somehow money must and should be raised to try what a skillful oculist could do for deoife Oraharn. Susie was the orphan niece of Solomon She knew that she had a modest little I mai of bar own, bat it was all in her bands, aad witbaut bis cowent she could not dispose even of her slender in come. But would he not he persuaded to let her have enough of her own money to accom plish her desire I She asked hint, using her utmost power of persuasion to touch his heart, hut he re fused with peremptory decision. Susie had in the world one treasure, a diamond ring, which had been her mother's, with a stone white and clear as a dew drop. This must, she knew, be worth hundreds. It was her own. She had meant to keep ii ail her life for her mot hex's sake, but surely this great need of George Graham's justified her in parting with it. She had one friend in whose good faith and judicious management she felt implicit confidence, and to him she sent her mother's ring, with the request that he would sell it as speedily and on as go<xl terms as possible, and remit her the price of it in bank notes, and keep for her the secret that she had disposed of it. It was a week after George Graham had given up hope, when a most unexpected hone came to him. A neighbor, going by from the |>ost office, handed in at the door a letter addressed to him. Mrs. Graham opened it. "George." she cried, after a moment, in an eager, trembling voice, "here are one hundred dollars, and this is the letter that comes with them— " 'This money is from a true friend of George Graham's, and is to le applied to taking him to an oculist, in the hope that his sight may IK> restored. The giver with holds his name, both I localise he desires no thanks, and because he wishes to make the return of the money impossible.' "It is from Heaven itself," the mother cried. "George, I feel in my soul that you are to IK? cured." The next day a mother and her blind son sought rooms at a quiet little house in the city, and the day after that they were among the earliest patients of Doctor An neal v. The first examination of George's eyes was unpromising enough, and the doctor wanted to see him daily. There were weary days and weeks that followed, and it was curious that the mo ther was always hopeful, and the son always despairing. At last it almost irritated him to hear her speak of hope to him, and one day he turn ed on her with the first hurst of passionate impatience she had ever experienced from him. "Mother," he said, "for the love of Heaven do not talk to me as if it was a sure thing that I am going to see again. 1 want to think it douhtfu', almost impos sible. If you should make me expect a sure cure, and then it shouldn't come, don't you see that I should go mad? I think I should dash my head against the wall. I can only live by expecting nothing." After that the mother held her peace, but whenever she went out of that darkened room those who saw her marveled at the light of joy in her eyes. At last the time came; the bandag was removed, there was just one wild cry— "Mother, I soe you .'"and then George lay at the doctor's feet, swooning in his great joy. It was weeks yet liefore he went home again, but the good news preceded him, The mother wrote to Solomon Grant, who had agreed still to seep tlie place open while awaiting the result of the experiment. Solomon read the letter in full family conclave. He little knew how his niece longed to snatch the paper from his hand and read it for herself; nor did he heed the tears that swam in her dark eyes, tears of such deep, unselfish joy as only a loving woman knows. Another letter came afterwards to tell when the widow and her son were to re turn. It was Susie who walked over early in the afternoon, carrying with her a basket of dainties for the travelers' supper. Susie's black eyes danced, and her heart sang within her as she set the table in the little parlor and lighted a fire in the kitchen stove, ready to make a fresh cup of tea whenever the widow and her son should arrive And at last the travelers came, as at last everything docs come, if we wait long enough for it. They had expected to find an empty house; they found instead warmth, and brightness, and good cheer, and Susie Hale. Had George Graham grown through his trial into a man's peiception of a girl's charms, or had his eyes been holden before, that lie should not see ? I only know that that night, for the first time in his.life, it dawned ujK>n him ihat another woman might some day dispute with his mother the cmnire of his heart. But it was not until five years afterwards, when Mr. Grant had taken bun into part nership, and Mr. Grant's niece, Susie, had become his wife, that George Graham ever guessed from whose tender hands had come the gift by means of which he had been re stored to hope and happiness. The Farmer, tlie Gunner, and the tilrd* It has l>ecn gravely asserted by men who have given the subject serious and patient study, that the locust and grasshopper pests, which, from time to time, devastate some of our Western States and Territories, are due to the wholesale destruction of game birds of the Rocky Mountains slopes ami the Mississippi Valley. Prof. Riley, State Entomologist of Missouri, declared that one grouse would in a season consume eggs and iarva? of locusts enough, if hatched out, to destroy the crops u|x>n one hundred acres of land. These birds are the guards which nature has set over the fields, and we might as well poison the soil as to remove them front their appointed work. And what the grouse is to the Western fanner the beauti ful Virginia partridge is to the Eastern — for it comes in numbers proportioned to the fields sown, and takes as the recompense of its guardianship of the young crops only the scattered grains of the harvest. Even the ungainly crow has at last found favor in the eyes of the husbandman. He pays for the few grains he steals from the first planting by an incessant warfare upon countlcrs unseen enemies of the corn. Put these are not all. The trees, the hedges, and the grass are alive with smaller birds which contribute their share to the security of field and orchard, and which are swept away in multitudes by the foolish gunners who infest the country from the first of Oc tober to the first of January. Samson was a strong man, yet we doubt If he was able to lift a big mort gage. MILLIIEIM, PA.. THURSDAY, DECEMBER 4, 1879. Illtfh Art. "Well!" I cried eagerly. "You make that picture.' "1 did!" I exclaimed triumphantly. "Henceforth the wife of your bosom de votes her lite to the divine art. Is it not fine?" "Very—very tine; hut could you not have found a pleasanter subject than a hat tie field? Although that group of Indians 1 to the right there —" "Indians!" "Yes, in the corner. Very natural tola: sure, hut—" • "Indians? There are no Indians. That is a group of tiees just tinted witji the touch of Autumn's linger." "O, yes ! to he sure ! I see. Surely, 1 uiu growing nearsighted. A graveyard scene. Very touching. And whose monu ment is that in the centre?" ".Monument i Graveyard scene?" "Yea. But is it not rather unusual to see camels grazing in a country church yard?" "Camels ? Where do you see camels ?" "Why, here. 1 would not have believ ed you could have got them so natural, i And those five graves all in a row. Quite a family shuttled otf the mortal coil. But you are excited. This painting has been 100 much for you." "It is too much for me. That beautiful rustic mill a monument! And camels! You will kill me! They are cows! Don't you see they are cows? And those graves as you call them, are moss-covered rocks. , Such ignorance!" "I iK'g your pardon, it is my poor eyes, and 1 see aright this time. That wind mill is just the tiling, hut don't you think it should he nearer the mill ? It's just a sug gestion, you know. I may he wrong." "You will make me desperate ? A • windmill! That lovely elm tree a wind mill ! Have you no touch of the divine I genius in your soul ? Have 1 encouraged this divine talent hut to meet scorn and sar j casin ?" ".My dear Absinthe, draw it mild. I dyn't know much about tho divine art, but 1 you have done —yes, I will say it—better ' than myself should under like circum I stance. It really is a marvel, hut knowing i so little about it, it isn't strange if 1 mistook your effort for a battle or even a graveyard scene. It is a Swiss scene —the Alps. These glaciers are grand. But no; 1 must lie wrong again, for surely you wouldn't-put trees aud cows on icelKWgs. No, my dear, it's all very pretty, hut 1 give it up. What I is it?" "Oh, you miserable wretch! I've a great mind not to tell you. It's a beautiful 1 New England farm scene. Any one could ; see. I'll never paint another picture! There !" And one stroke of tiie brush ruin ed my painting forever, and I marched Aniinidab grimly from the room, slamming the door. What is my one talent ? XleßMiremeut of PiKtHnce*. A new instrument for measuring dis tances bv sight is among the recent inven tions in England. In this arrangement the uistance of any object is ascertained by : simply reading off upon a scale marked on the base of a right angled triangle the number of divisions which are equivalent to the angle of two lines of sight denoted by an index scale; the two sides of the tri- I angle—that is the perpendicular and the i hypothenuse—are the two lines of sight to . the object, and the length of the base vanes , with the distance of the object*observed at , the apex ot the triangle. Tho distance of the same is measured by the length of base required to enable the line of sight to meet the object of the oblique line. The oblique line of sight in the instrument is obtained along a radius arm, the angle of which to the base may be set at pleasure. The part of the instrument forming the other line of . sight at right angles to the base has a sliding action along the base, so as to cna able the latter to IK* lengthened or reduced, but is always at right angles to it. For the base, a space is divided of 6.282 inches thus allowing the decimal readings of the length of the base to be obtained—6.2B2, being the proportion of circle circumfer ence to radius. A scale is provided h}* means of which the radius arm may he set j for oblique line of sight to the decimal of a degree. The process of reading off the distance of an object on the instrument is in this wise: As the chord of arc of an angle is to the radius as 1 to 57.35, then if then the radius arm be 57.35 inches, it follows that for an angle of one degrej it will he one inch out of perpendicular to the base. The oblique line of sight being along the radius arm, will therefore meet at 57.35, the perpendicular line of sight with one inch base, and the object—at the apex of the triangle—will be distant 57.35 inches ' from the observer, that is 57.35 times the ' length of the base line. The base line be ' ing divided to scale, the distance of the object may thus IK: read off. Didn't Work it Right The ticket-seller at the Union Detroit De pot, has had another „ xperience in human nature, though belong airo made up his mind that he was familiar with all the tricks and traits ever employed by :fiose who travel. Recently he noted a middle aged husband and wife holding a close con fab and pointing his way, and after a time the than longed up and said : "I want to go to Niles." "Very well." • 4 I 'spose I'll have to pay full fare," con tinued the man, "but that old woman you see over there is a fool and Urn tuking her home to her friends. I 'spose fools travel for half-fare, don't they ?" "No ! we charge just as much for a fool as anybody else. We hav? only one price." "Well, that's kinder singular," mused the stranger. 'They always let fools into circuses and balls and other shows for half price, and sometimes for nothing. Seems as if you ought to have sosio pity on her." "I have pity on her, of course, but we have onlv one rate." "Besides being a fool she has crazy spells, too, couldn't she take advantage of the lunatic act and go for half fare?" "She must pay full fare !" was the de cided answer. The woman had been skulking forward during the conversation, and as her hus band turned from the window, she whisp eringly inquired: "Kin Igo as a fool?" "Naw !" growled the man as he turned upon her—"fools have to pay as much as anybody!" "Well, I can't help it, can i?" she asked. "I 'sposc not, but we didn't work it right. I ought to have thrown snuff in yer eyes, put yer false teeth in my pocket, and tried to pass ye along as a poor blind woman go. i>g back te gaze su her husband's grave!" One can't excel In (Everything. ideals of excellences, if not excellences themselves, are so graduated as to fit the different orders of tuind In which they take their rise. Gicatness is not a positive qual ity ; it is simply a relative nt tribute. The man who lias never succeeded in en snaring a single "speckled beauty" from some "tortuous stream" may truthfully boast of his eminent success in catching sculpius. The man who cannot sing may yet have a voice peculiarly adapted to crying clams, oranges or charcoal. He who is no dancer may be good at hitch-aud-kick or shinny. The man who was not Inirn to conun&nd, to set a squadron in the field, may surpass all his acquaintances in the untiring devo tion lie evinces in the coloring of his meer schaum. The boy who is ever at the foot of his dusß may still be an expert in the formation and propulsion of spitballs. The lad who is not a pronounced success at arithmetic may be simply excellent at mumble-peg and tnw\ The woman who cannot make a loaf of bread may excel in the nuking of frills and furbelows. She who cannot play the simplest air on the washboard may execute the most dilll cult themes upon the piatxjforte. She who cannot darn o stocking may he the envy of her circle for her skill and taste in worsted work, in marrying sky-blue dogs to pink backgrounds. The mother who cannot command the re spect of her children may yet he fawned upon by half a score of male bipeds without a spot on th< ir dainty linen or an idea in their heads. The son who does a stroke of work at home may IK* superlatively active in the bowling alley or billiard room. The daughter who is too feeble to wush the dishes may dunce till the small hours of the night after having been shopping all day. The girl who cannot sew may chew gum with tireless jaw. A great singer may not be able to smoke the mildest of cigars without turning pale. A general who has h>d armies on to vic tory may be surpassed in profanity by the raggedest street-boy in the city. I he hand that has penned the divinest poetry may IK* clownishly awkward with the billiard cue. The man who is capable of organizing and carrying forward gigantic business en terprises may IK? easily outdone at caucus management by the shabbiest politician of his ward. The artist who gives birth to such ex quisite creations may not be able to tie his neck-cloth nearly so well as Augustus, who in his turn can do nothing else. Touching Mt W et l'olnt A West Point recitation, by the way, in something unique. Whin a visitor makes his appearance every cadet rises and '•fronts," and you feel as you did when you entered your first freshman society, where the wails were lined with your tender initi ators. This severe liiiitary carriage is re laxed at a sign from the instructor, and the recitation goes on. The teaching is un doubtedly the most borough in the country if not in the world. The reason will proba bly be found in the act that not only are the cadets held to a strict accountability for the work tlioy go ovr, but in addition to that the assistant iistructors are also strict ly responsible to the professors in charge of their department. Thus a professor of mathematics will htvo one hour's instruc tion with his class diring the forenoon, and the remainder of the time he devotes to in specting the work of his assistant professors who are instructing other sections in the same subject. As lure are only nine men in a section, it will le readily seen that no one can escftjic. The fact that a professor is known to make tic rounds of the section rooms is a guaranty o the cadet that no in justice will lie done iim by a young instruc tor who for any reasm many betray partia lity The professor h sure to seek an ex planation for any greit difference between liis mark and that on a tutor's hook when the same man is under consideration. It is the curse of the narking B}-stem at our American collegei that a man is at the mercy of a young tutor who by his mark-book sits in judgment fron which there is no appeal. Every college nun knows how much in justice is done ty a few callow instructor" who have perlups forty men to hear at a time, who hear each man perhaps every other day, aud must determine his stand by the two or tlree minutes he is on his feet. There are so many opportunities for the dis honest studeat to impose on the tutor, and the tutor is JO quick to suspect of laziness the man who is too honest to "pony" or hand in "sick-excuses." and, moreover, the divisions are so large and the examinations so infrequent, that the marking system, in my judgment, is fruitfuluf evil. JSo edu cational institution in tbii country has prob ably so large a teaching force in proportion to the students as West Point. At Yale and Harvard the proportion is about 1 to 10; at Abe Miliary Academy it is 1 to 6. At Yale a professor has sometimes GO men in a recitlion-room; herehc has nine. Here the student must learn; there he may. Here he must learn so much and no more ; there he must learn a little less than so much, but may learn a great deal more. Up Popocatepetl When n stranger goes to Mexico, every body who hits ever been there asks, 4 'Are you going to climb Popocatepetl?" and the stranger almost invaribly replies, "Cer tainly." He almost invariably changes his mind. Popocatepetl is private property, owned by a resident of the Mexican capi tal. In our own country where there are plenty of things to get, nobody would take a volcano for a gift, but in Mexico, where there are so few things to own, they snap up volcanoes as we would gold mines and brag of owning them. There is something not only unique but impressive in owning a volcano. I was going down stairs in tho Iturbide hotel in .Mexico one day with a native, when the native pointed out a gen tleman coming up stairs, and said he was the owner of the volcano Popocatepetl. I rather expected to see fire belching out of his mouth and brimstone oozing out of his ears. But there was nothing of the kind. His name was General Ochoa, and the guide-book says "ke is a perfect gentle man," so it must be so. If lie is, I should think he would start up his old worn out volcano when a lot of strangers go down to see it. But he doen't. It is not within the memory of man that this fraud of a volcano has done any real work. We might as well say that old Roundtop up ia the Cat ski lie, is a volcano, and put it in all tho geogra phies and advertise it all over the world. Gen. Ochoa who owns this defunct volcano is a very ordinary looking person, and no one, to lHik at him, would think that he pays his hoard hills from the income de rived from the sale of brimstone, hut he does. Some of his enemies say that lie sj under contract to supply an unmentionable country with brimstone, but this is hardly to lie credited. There are agixHt many rea sons why it is not worth while to climb Po pocatapotl. The first and foremost is, sev eral women have climbed it, and where a woman can climb it is no great feat for uri American young man to go. In the sec ond place it is sixty miles from the capital which in Mexico means two days' Journey over had roads and in uncoml'ortublc stages. On the upper part of the mountain the at mosphere is so rare that weak persons have frequently been attacked with hemorrageof the lungs, and sonic have died. The jour ney is laborious one, and a gisnl mile of the way, straight up hill is through ashes and cinder a foot deep. Ijist, but not least, the journey is very expensive for stages, l>oard, guides and costumes. Postscript.—Tho game is not worth the powder. It is a great satisfaction to see this mountain from, a distance: to sit on the upper piazza of a hotel, with your feet on the railing aud a good cigar, thinking, "So that is Popocata petl, is it? That is the mountain my old country schoolmaster used to say was the highest in America, with a pronunciation eighteen degrees wide of the mark. And now there she is. Who'd ever have thought it, in those old days of school house benches and wamlcr-ng school atlases?" While you are looking at it, if you choose the right time of day—after the sun goes down—it disappears before your cigar is finished. It is quite possible that the reader may have heard that there is no twi light in the tropies—the sun gH's and in a few minutes it is dark. The mountain grows dim and disappears like the school day memories of its unpronounced name. There is no fire and brimstone coming out of the crater, as there ought to beout of any genuine volcano; there is nothing but a dim spot in the distance to be seen only when the moon gets behind it and lights up its outline. Almost any stranger looking at the mountain from any elevation in the capital, will estimate that it is four or five miles away, unless he knows la'tter, for it is sixty. The air is so clear there yon can see a long distance. It is so clear a Mexi can will see a five-cent piece two miles off, and go for it. Ill* I'retty IIKIIRII Kur*e j Just beyond the Minjeic river, a few ; miles northeast of Scranton. in the primi tive village of Salem, there lives a centena rian whose history reads like a page plucked from one of the Leather-stocking romances. Abraham Johnson is now 106 years old— hale, hearty, unimpaired in intellect, and gifted with a remarkable memory. His family record shows that he was horn in the State of Vermont early in the year 1778, near taikc C'hamplain. His father was a Revolutionary soldier, at a short time before General Burgoyue's surrender, October 13, 1777. Abraham Johnsou was Captain of a company of Oneida Indians m 1814, under General Macomb, who com manded nt Plattsburgh in the absence of General Izard. He refers with great pride to the battle of Plattsburgh, and shows two wounds which he received on that occa sion. One of them is a bayonet thrust be low the knee, and the other a sword cut on the neck. He says that after he was cut down by a gigantic "Re coat" another thrust a bayonet through bis leg to ascer tain if lie were dead. He says he bore the punishment rather than suffer the indigni ty of being taken prisoner, and was accor dingly left for dead. The Indians carried their bleeding and battle-scarred command er to their village, where he was nursed and cared for by Oneida, the beautiful daughter of an Indian chief, whose gentle care soon restored him to strength and health. But while she healed his bodily wounds, she inflicted one still deeper on the warrior's heart, and he fell desperately in love with her. She eventually returned his affection, and they were married after peace had been restored between the L'nited States and Great Britain. They made their home in Sussex county, N. J., where the dork eyed daughter of the forest taught her husband how to earn a livelihood by basket making. A daughter was horn to them and they named her Martha. She is at present known as Mrs. Ellsworth, and lives in Madison township, Lackawana county, Pa. As years went by Abraham Johnson's Indian wife began to pine for her old home and the rude associations of her childhood. She gradually failed in health, and finally, iu response to her repeated longings for her people, her husband carried her back to tlie Oncidas, where she died and was buried as became the daughter of an Indian chief. Little Martha found a home and shelter for a time with an uncle in Sussex county, but when she grew up she joined the Onei da Indians, and lived among her mother's kindred, where she married a man with th unromantic name of Brown. After hi death, she married Ellsworth, her presen husband, and returned to civilization. She is as proud of her princely ancestors as if they bore the proud name of the Plant age nets, or possessed the high and haugnty spirit of the Tudors. Since the loss of his Indian wife, Abraham Johnson has remain ed single. He still talks of General Jack son to the day of his death. Aithough en titled to a pension for his soldierly services in the defence of the Hag, he docs not re ceive a penny, and is permitted to remain a charge on Salem township. He is probably one of the oldest men in Pennsylvania. A Race with Thumb** on their Feet. Mr. Tremlett, the Brittsh Consul at Sai gon, in his report this year, mention as a remarkable peculiarity of the natives of the country, that they have the great toe of each foot separated from the others, like the thumb of the hand, and it can be used in much the same manner, though not to the same extent. This distinctive mark of an Annamite is not, however, usually seen in tl|p vicinity of Saigon, but is now confi ned to the inhabitants of the more northern section of the empire, where the race has remained more distinct. This peculiarity is tho meaning of the nativo name for the Annamite race; and that the name and pe culiarity are of great antiquity is shown by the mention in Cninese annals 2. 300 B. C,. as that for those of one of the 4 Tour barba rian" tribes that then formed the bounda ries of the Chinese empire. THK miser is the great original chest protector. Cleansing Beds and Pillows. Two little children were almost simul taneously uttucked with canker rash in its worst form. There had been no cases in the vicinity for years, and they had been kept entirely at home for the whole winter, so there was no possibility of their having taken the disease from any exposure to contagion. It wits a mysterious Provi dence, the clergyman said, when lie was called to perform the burial service. Af terward it was ascertained that the mother had bought a feather bed of a peddler a few weeks before and used it on the trun dle-bed lor her little ones to make them a comfortable nest for the cold weather. Upon further investigation It was discov ered that the peddler had bought it at a house some twenty-five miles away, and that two children had been sick and died of scarlatina upon the same bed the year before. The bed had been laid away in an open chamber till the family sold out their place to move away, and they sold the bed to a traveliug peddler for a trifling sum, thus distributing sickness and death through a distant town, for the disease spread in every direction and became a regular epidemic. Had that lied, immedi ately after the death of the first children, been washed thoroughly and soaked in wa ter with either a little carbolic acid or spir its of ammonia added to it, aud then dried in the sun it would have been safe to be used by anj r one; but, us it was, it carried grief and desolation into many households. Of course, it was not a preniditated wrong; it was a case of ignorance or carelessness. Diphtheria has been conveyed by usciug beds in the same manner, and, if individ uals would only consider for a minute how much suffering might be prevented, they would be more careful. There is never an effect without a cause, but perhaps the cause may not be discovered till too late to prevent the evil. It is very little labor to cleanse pillows and beds, if done in a proper manner, and common sense will show that it is advisable to have it done often, even if no sick person has lain upon them. A day's exposure to the hot sun— turning over and shaking them up often— is a great benefit, and makes them sweeter as well as lighter. An occasional washing is a sure purifier. Carbolic acid is a pow erful disinfectant, and it sweetens beds which will accumulate a disagreeable odor if not thoroughly cleansed and aired. Pil lows can be washed without ripping so that they will be delightfully renovated. Use scalding suds in a wash tub to soak them well, and then pass through rinsing waters till the water is not colored at all. This is all that is required unless they really smell badly. In that case, either carbolic acid or spirits of ammon a should be added to rinsing water. Ix?t them drain well and then hang them where they will get air and sunshine. I'rugress in Iceland The casual traveler, unless he passes a longer time in the country than tourists are wont to do, can hardly estimate the pro gress now making by the people of Iceland. Many causes arc contributing <to this ad vancement besides the new constitutional government. The purchases of horses for the English market have brought into the country considerable sums of mony. The growing demand for Icelandic codfish in Spain and the establishment of several fish oil manufactories on the northern and west ern coasts have cnchanced the number of boats engaged in tho coast fisheries, and have, of course, tended to increase the na tional wealth. The farm products—sheep, wool and tallow—have increased in quantity and value in consequence of the introduc tion of better processes. There are like wise now may more eider-down establish ments than formerly, the down finding an increased sale in Russia. Until the pres ent year there has also been a steadily grow ing hay crop, but the northern districts have suffered this summer from droughts, Sal mon, which formerly was rarely sent from the country, has lately been largely export ed, although the season just closed was an unfavorable one for this product also. As a result of all this, the habitations of the farmers and fishermen are rapidly becoming better —greatly to the improvement of the physical condition of their occupants. The number of houses of stone and timber built within the last six years is very consider able. Small towns are rising at various points on the northern and western fjords. Akurcyri, the principal port on the north, Isafjord on the northwest peninsula, Styk kisholm on the great Breidafjord, Skagi on Akranes, a bustling hamlet of fisherman, and Reykavik, the capital, are fast becom ing important centers of industry and trade Fairy Stories of tlie Khlne Outrivaled. The Courier of Tiemeen, Algeria, de scribes an interesting discovery recently made at the cascades near that place. Some miners had blasted an enormous rock near the cascad* s, and, on the removal of the deb ris, found it had coveredalargeopeningintoa cave, the lloor of which was covered with water. Constructing a rude raft, and pro viding themselves with candles, the work men sailed along this underground river, which, at a distwuce of sixty meters, was found to merge into a large lake of limpid water. The roof of the cavern was very high and covered with stalactites, the bril liant colors of which sparkled in the light of the candles. Continuing their course, the workmen had at certain places to navi gate their craft between the stalactites, which, meeting sialagmites from the bed of the lake, formed massive columns which looked as if they had been made expressly to sustain the enormous arches. Thus they reached the extremity of the lake, where they noticed a large channel extending southward. This is supposed to be a large fissure, wliieh has baffled exploration hith erto at Sebdon. and wchih connects the cascades with that locality, and thus with the mysterious sources of the Tefna. It is possible that here they have found an im mense natural basin, supplied by powerful sources, and sending a part of its waters toward the lake, while the rest goes to Sebdon. The workmen estimated the dis tance underground traversed by them at three kilometers, and the breadth of the lake at two. They brought out with them a quantity of fishes, wl ich swarmed round the raft, and which were found to be blind. Though we should examine the whole world, we shall not find one man so happy as to have nothing left to wish for; but we see thousands, who by sui cide, show us they have nothing left to hope for. in this life, then it appears that we cannot be entirely blessed, but yet we may be completely miserable. FOOD FOB THOUGHT.- Words are to actions only the saw dust of the club of Hercules. Never affect to be witty or Jest so as to hurt the feelings of another. Making one's fortune Id political life is gambling upon % series of Ifs. 1 don't wonder that debt makes men criu lnals. It hardens the heart. People must discuss something—lt is the great preventative of Insanity. When one's heart is full, one is not apt to drop a plummet line into It. Great souls hold firmly to heaven and let the earth roll on beneath them. Low as the grave is, only faith can climb high enough to see beyond it. Never think worse of another on ac count of his differing from you In poli tics and religious subjects. ~ Never ridicule sacred things or what others may esteem as such however ab surd they may appear to you. Bodily enjoyment depends upon good health, and health depends npon tem perance. The man who studies to be revenged only manages to keep his own wounds green. No evil is insupportable but that which Is accompanied with conscious ness of wrong. YVheu people's feelings have got a deadly wound they can't be cured by. favors. Knowledge will always predominate over ignorance, as man governs the other animals. There are few doors through which liberality, joined with good humor, cannot hud its way. She that has no one to love or trust, has but little to hope. She wants the radical principle of happiness. Have you known how to take repose? You have done more than he who has taken cities and empires. This is the present reward of virtuous conduct —that no unlucky consequence can oblige us to regret it. Integrity without knowledges weak and useless, and knowledge without In tegrity is dangerous and dreadful. Of the uncertainties of our present state, the most dreadful and alarming is the uncertain continuance of reason. That man who knows the world will never be bashful, and that man who knows himself will never be impudent. Let there be in necessary things unity, in everything charity, and tkea there need not be in everything uni formity. Never resell; a supposed injury until you know the views and motives of the author of it. And on no occasion re late it. Always take the part of an absent person who is censured in company, so far as the tiuth and propriety will allow. A man should live with his superiors as he does with his fire—not too near lest he burn; not too far off, lest he freeze. It is not enough to believe what yon maintain; you must maintain what you believe, and maintain it because you believe it. There is in Christianity light enough for those wno sincerely wish to see it, and darkness enough to confound those of an opposite disposition. Only they who carry sincerity to the highest point, in whom there remains not a singly hair's breadth of hyyocrlsy, can see the hidden springs of things. It requires a great deal of boldness and a great deal of caution to make a great fortune, and when you have got it, it roquires ten times as much wit to keep it. A weak mind sinks under prosperity as well as under adversity. A strong mind has two highest tides—when the moon is at the full and when there Is no moon. It is much easier to meet with error than to find truth. Error Is on the surface; truth is hidden in great depths, and the way to seek it does not appear to all the world. A superior capacity for business, and a more extensive knowledge, are steps by which a new man often mounts to favor and outshines the rest of his con temporaries. The mind is nourished at a cheap rate. Neither cold nor heat nor age itself can interrupt this exercise. Give, there fore, ail you can to a possession which ameliorates even In its old age. Whatever comes out of despair can not bear the title of valor, which should be lifted up to sue.) a height that, hold ing all thiugs under itself, it should be able to m&iutain Its greatness even iu the midst of miseries. The life of every man is as the well spring of a stream, whose small begin nings are indeed plain to all, but whose course and destination, as It winds through the expanses of infinite years, only the Omniscient can discern. Faith without works is like a bird without wings; though she may hop with her companions on earth, yet she will never fly with them to heavea; but when both are joined together, then doth the soul mount up to eternal rest. The harp holds in its wires the possi bilities of noblest chords; yet, if they he not struck, they must hang dnll and useless.* So the mind is vested with a hundred powers, that must be smitten by a heavy hand to prove themselves the offspring of divinity. When you speak evil of another you must be prepared to have others speak evil of you. There is an old Buddhist proverb which says, "He who indulges in enmity is like oue who throws ashes to windward, which comes back to the same place and covers him all over." They who can catch at happiness on the bright surface of things imagine they can secure it, such as it is, with less risk and more certainty; they who dive for it in the waters of deeper feel ing, if they succeed, bring up pearls and diamonds, but if they sink, they are gone forever. In the decline of life, shame and grief are of short duration ; whether It be that we bear easily what we have borne long, or thatiinding ourselves !n age less regarded, we less regard oth ers; or, that we look with slight re- Sird upon afflictions, to which we know at the hand of death is about to pu an end. NO. 48.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers